


Pale Heart

by Loouop



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Regret, Sympathetic Azog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loouop/pseuds/Loouop
Summary: Thorin knows a few things about the world for certain. That dwarrows are the most unlucky race on Middle Earth, elves are a bunch of tree-shaggers, and orcs are evil. When he gets captured by Azog and carted off to Mordor he might realize the world isn't black and white.





	Pale Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so don't expect it to be perfect. This idea has been brewing around in my head for a while and i just wanted write it down. I plan on writing more so hopefully you enjoy reading it.

Thorin was angry.

In fact, to call it anger would be a disservice to the amount of rage and frustration he felt boiling underneath his skin.

_Fool’s Errand_

_Doomed from the beginning_

_Suicidal_

            The words of his kin echoed through his mind as he rode. The letters had been arriving regularly over the last month, responses to the plea for aid in defeating Smaug and reclaiming Erebor. Each and every one of them ended in the same sentiment. Some tried to disguise it behind polite words or even genuine guilt but that did nothing to change the message contained within.

_No_

            A simple reply that had made Thorin’s heart deflate every time he read it again and again. He had expected it of course, he couldn’t deny that it was a risky endeavor and had a low chance of success, but how much lower they were without even a single call to arms answered? Without a single request for supplies and workers reciprocated?

            He had been angry, so very angry. At the cowardice, the complete inaction of his brothers in sisters in the face of their plight. It had simmered down ever so slowly since the first when he was a whirlwind of sharp glares and red faced yelling in the event of even the most minor of problems. He couldn’t stay mad forever, thought they denied him now he would reclaim Erebor once more and hold it over them evermore for they had lost the chance to claim any of its wealth.

            The anger he felt now was not the result of the numerous denials, his anger at the other dwarf lords was spent. Now he was angry at the circumstances that had lead him to this road. Angry at all that had been lost because of them. Angry that all the good things life had not been. That of all the turns fate could have lead them down of course it gave the dwarrows the short end of it. Dwarrows would always be the recipients of the most bad luck Arda could offer and always it was their job to try and create a livable situation from the disasters that inevitably came their way.

            His people deserved better than what they had. They were not destitute as much of Middle Earth believed. They were just a secretive people that did not much like to interact with the other races for how much they were looked down upon, figuratively and literally. And so many heard of the great calamity to befall the dwarrows of Erebor, and heard much less true tales of nomadism and poverty. They had a home and jobs and stable living conditions. The mountains of Ered Luin took them in graciously but to call it a kingdom would be generous. To a dwarf the Blue Mountains were little more than a village. So, with the arrival of so many dwarrows there simply weren’t enough jobs to go around. Many had make do with the minimal wage they could earn doing menial work for the local villages of Men, instead of pursuing the craft that made their hearts sing and their souls shine.         

            True, winters were hard but very few starved even during the harshest seasons. Babies were still born and life continued. Many made a life in the Blue Mountains but many more were discontent. Dwarrows should not slave away for Man’s sake, they should craft for themselves and their people.          

            That is what Thorin wanted to reclaim with his foolhardy quest and ragtag group of loyal dwarrows to help him slay the greatest calamity of their age and reclaim the birthright of the dwarrows of Erebor.

            Such rousing words he could make but even his most inspiring words, which he had poured into each and every letter to the other dwarven lords, could not shake them from their thrones.

            “I’ll just do it without them,” the lone dwarf sat upon his pony trotting along a forest path in a small glen east of Ered Luin “ that’ll show them.” It was then that Thorin’s thought shifted away from the circumstances leading up to the moment and instead to his current situation.     

            Thorin was never a talented rider. Even in his younger years when his brother and sister delighted in being allowed to ride on one of the stabled ponies or boars he had always abstained. Removing his feet from solid stone put him ill at ease and caused his already faulty sense of direction to vanish completely. He recalled an event of his youth when his cousin Dain of the Iron Hills arrived atop an intimidating boar and after much bothering convinced Thorin to give it a ride. It was meant to be a short and easy trek to Dale. Just a few minutes away to show Thorin how much easier it was to ride than it was to walk. How quickly that intention had been dispelled when mere seconds after exiting the mountain the beast bolted in the opposite direction at a speed no one expected, least of all the inexperienced prince. He only returned the next day thanks to a very helpful shepherd who was confused to see such a young dwarf so far from his home.

And so, his mistrust of animals and discomfort with riding were cemented evermore.

            This along with his already teetering temper resulted in him becoming very frustrated, and very nauseous, very quickly when his mount refused to walk along the path in a reasonable manner and insisted on switching from a timid trot to a tooth rattling gallop every few moments.

            “Confound this infernal creature! Is it so hard to just keep a reasonable pace so I don’t shatter my teeth and gag up my lunch!” He yelled in a manner most unbefitting of a king and tugged swiftly on his mount’s reins to bring the unruly creature into order. Fortunately,the animal stopped dead in its tracks. This allowed the dwarf to gain control of his stomach and cool his temper a bit, but it also illuminated a rather disturbing occurrence.

            For years this road had been used by men and dwarrows alike to travel east, and so it was guarded quite regularly by patrolling Rangers. This usually meant that one could travel unguarded or even alone without much bother from the wild animals and bandits that littered the other, less traveled, roads of the region. From his knowledge of the Ranger’s patrol, and frequent trips to the glen to hunt and travel to his job as a smith in the nearby human settlement, Thorin assumed this road would be the safest and easiest of his journey ahead.

            In his comfort he had allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts and become deaf to the world around him. He listened again for the rustling of the foliage, the snapping of branches that would tell him the nature of his company. For when one travels such roads for long enough, certain things like the different sounds of a bandit ambush and a fleeing animal become clear if you know what to listen for.

Did the sound move away or say next to you?  
Does it try to hide by only moving when you do?  
Do the birds sing or fly away when it draws near?

            Thorin concluded, quite quickly, that the presence was certainly a bandit who had spied a lonely dwarf and was intending to capitalize on his vacancy. How may was the better question. Most often bandits worked alone or in small groups, but rarely they would band together in larger number resulting less often in a robbery and more often in a murder.

            Then he heard a sound that changed everything. No longer was he afraid of a human ambush as was most common. He heard the low sound of a warg growl. Nearly imperceptible at the volume any other traveler would have passed it off as the wind or some other such nonsense. Thorin however knew that sound and could recognize it anywhere, that sound haunted him. The exodus from Erebor to the other side of the continent was just as unforgiving as the tales told. He dug his heels into the sides of his mount gently, enough to urge it into a brisk trot but not a full gallop.

_Bolt immediately and_ _they’re sure to catch me. Perhaps I can run into a ranger or another caravan._ His mind buzzed with adrenaline, he was a great swordsman but even he couldn’t take on a full party of orcs.

            Sightings of the foul creatures had been made recently with increasing regularity, though never on the main road, never in ranger patrolled territory.

            He remembered a family, just a dwarf, his wife and their young son who was only just old enough to travel, found dead and mutilated when heading south. Their heads were removed from their shoulders and cast about the road, chunks for their flesh were carved away with unsharpened blades. Their blood was still warm and their possessions still intact when the rangers arrived on the gruesome scene. The display was too precise and brutal to be animals and with nothing stolen bandits were unlikely. The only reasonable answer was that orcs were in the area, their cruelty and penchant for gore were unmistakable. It was unspoken of in the mountain. Never openly at least, though if one held their ear to the ground frightened whispers of “orc attack” would be heard coming from every corner of the mountain.

            He was saddened of course, but what could he do? He held some authority with the local government, as much as any foreign dignitary, but not enough to order the patrol’s he would have liked or sway in how the city was run. Even his own people had turned away from him, slowly their loyalty to him had waned. How could he blame them? He had done nothing to relieve them of their plight. He was an outsider, albeit a long standing one, and was envious of King Vonolir, son of Wholir. He had been groomed for the position of king since his youth, trained in the art of diplomacy and government only to have it ripped from him and forced to watch someone inept hold the title he had coveted even as a child. _Dis could rule better than that idiot with one hand tied behind her back, and I with both._  He did nothing to protect people that had come to him for help. Like so many of the other dwarf lords he assumed his people safe inside their mountain. They were of course but many of the Ereborean dwarrows had been forced to leave the mountain either due to lack of space or jobs.

            And so, he had waited and listened until the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains grew numb to the increasingly frequent reports of unexplained and terrible murders along their less traveled roads. It would seem that he too had grown numb to the fear such things incited and had walked into his death.

            It was then he felt the shift. No longer was he being chased and stalked, they were moving in for the kill. With no others in sight and his time dwindling, Thorin dug his heels as hard as the could into his pony’s side causing what he hoped to be a surprise dash. Enough to create a bit of distance. Enough to make a stand without being overwhelmed immediately. _If I’m going to die I’m going to take as many of those bastards with me as I can._

            Once he felt he was ahead of the main pack he pulled back harshly on the reins. A pony couldn’t outlast a warg in a chase and he couldn’t outlast an orc. He dismounted and drew his sword in one swift motion, landing in a defensive stance and waiting for his enemies to show themselves. At once they emerged from the undergrowth and began their approach. Six in all, three mounted and three on foot, all armed with black orcish swords and daggers and scowling as if he had ruined their fun.

            The air was tense with the soon to come skirmish and the adrenaline from the initial discovery of being chased was bolstered by the threat of immediate combat. One of the unmounted orcs seemed to grow tired of the slow pace of his fellows and charged the lone dwarf. It was a pathetic effort and resulted in his blow being parried and a crippling slash across his chest. The orc sputtered on for a few brief moments before he collapsed, a lifeless corpse.

            Instead of being deterred by the display of skill the other orcs were enraged. The rest of the party seemed to have more sense about them and continued slowly forming a circle making, a show of how outnumbered he was. Thorin felt more than saw the haunches of the warg tense up, the bundle of muscle contracting right before the beast would have done a mighty leap not doubt in tandem with the other bloodthirsty mongrels.

            Thorin braced himself for the impact, ready to dodge out of the way of at least one of the pounces, but they never came. Something far worse that he could only imagine occurring in a dream, a nightmare made flesh and the source of much regret in Thorin’s life. His past had come back to haunt him in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

The true terror he felt upon hearing that voice.

The voice of his mortal foe.

The voice of the one who had stolen so much from him.

His grandfather.

His brother.

His cousin Dain’s foot.

The voice that he could recognize no matter the language, but most easily of all in the hideous Black Speech of Mordor.

The voice of the Defiler

The voice of the Durinslayer

The voice of _Azog_.

**Author's Note:**

> Well what did you think? Comments would be greatly appreciated as I'm still new and would love some criticism on how I could improve. Thanks for reading and stick around for the next chapter. To be posted eventually I swear


End file.
